


Beat a Tactical Retreat

by TheCourtJester



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: :), Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Gen, post episode 132, well canon for the mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCourtJester/pseuds/TheCourtJester
Summary: Jon looked across the empty shipyard and saw a group of identical women, each with a shock of short red hair; Rose Reds, he Knew. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t Know them, he knew them, and in an instant he raised his gun and fired six shots into the group, one after another. His torn throat was quickly stitching itself back together, and alongside it so too were his fractured memories returning. He grinned, something sharp and feral in the slash of his mouth, and rose slowly to his feet.Jonathan Sims is Jonny d'Ville, and really that's all you need to know.
Comments: 119
Kudos: 479





	1. Release the Dogs of War

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For the d'Ville of It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084719) by [esoteric_goblin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esoteric_goblin/pseuds/esoteric_goblin). 



> I've been on a bit of a Magnus Archives and Mechanisms kick, and upon discovering the limited crossover content between the two, became hooked, and then sad that more didn't exist. Inspired by esoteric_goblin's lovely fic 'For the d'Ville of it' which I highly recommend!
> 
> Anyways! Have this!

There was a statement sitting on Jon’s desk. It detailed one Isaac Powder’s experience with a group of red headed clones, identical down to their last movement: clearly the Stranger’s domain. Something about it wasn’t quite right though, and although the statement satisfied his hunger somewhat, it also left him with a dull pain sitting at the back of his skull. He sighed, digging his fingers into his temples in the hopes that it would help. 

He took a moment, head hanging low over his desk before standing up. Something was drawing him towards these clones, and at this point he’d take any lead he could get. Jon headed out into the archives, stopping in the doorway. “There’s a statement I need to follow up on, seems like the Stranger’s domain.” 

Basira stretched. “We’ll come with you. I’ve been dying to get out of the Archives for a bit, and we need to ensure you don’t do anything.” 

“You really don’t have to-” Jon tried to protest, but she cut him off. “We’re still going to though. Group trip, yeah? Keep us all safe and together.” 

He couldn’t really devise a response to that, so in the end he merely nodded. “Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

\---

The location Mister Powder talked about in his statement was an abandoned shipyard just outside of beyond the River Thames. The sun was setting as they arrive, and Jon’s headache had gotten steadily worse, the pressure building until it seemed as though it was pushing at the sides of his skull. 

“Jon, where did you get a gun?” Basira’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts and he looked down at his right hand. Within it he held a gleaming silver revolver, a slightly older make that he’d never seen before. He stared at it. 

“I have no idea.” He said blankly. “God, these powers keep getting weirder and weirder.”

“I guess-” he started, dragging a hand across his face, before getting cut off by a bullet to the throat. He choked, hand clutching at the gushing wound in his neck, and it was only at Martin’s half aborted “Jon!” that he looked up. 

Jon looked across the empty shipyard and saw a group of identical women, each with a shock of short red hair; Rose Reds, he Knew. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t Know them, he knew them, and in an instant he raised his gun and fired six shots into the group, one after another. His torn throat was quickly stitching itself back together, and alongside it so to were his fractured memories returning. He grinned, something sharp and feral in the slash of his mouth, and rose slowly to his feet. 

“Jon!” A hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him away to take cover behind a large shipping crate.

“Oh, come on! I haven’t fought a Rose Red in decades, and it’s been so long since I’ve had any really good violence!” His assistants stared at him, worry and shock warring on their faces. Distantly, he was aware that his behavior was outside of the realm of what they expected from him, but he also hadn’t felt this good in years, potentially ever, and as such, he couldn’t really find it within himself to care. It was Daisy who spoke first, her grip on his wrist tightening.

“What the _fuck,_ was that, Jon? If you even are Jon anymore, because you sure as hell aren’t acting like him.”

Jon looked at him, an arrogant smirk tilting across his face. The arrogance was familiar, the smirk, not so much. “Oh I’m still the Jon you knew, just a little bit, shall we say, a little bit _more._ The name’s Jonny d’Ville, Captain of the Starship Aurora and leader of a lovely band of space pirates called the Mechanisms. I’m here because my crew got a bit snippy and decided to stage _a mutiny.”_ His voice dripped with scorn. “I’ve been stuck on this planet without my memories for the past decade and a half, and that is quite frankly, bullshit.”

Silence reigned as everyone took a moment to try to process what had just come out of their boss’ mouth. Melanie finally broke it. “Alright, he’s finally lost it, someone get that gun off him.”

“Oh, no you don’t! I just got this baby back, like hell am I giving her up again, especially not with the Rosies out there. Fighting them unarmed is not as fun as it seems.” He ducked back and out of their reach, and consequently, out from behind the barrier of the shipping crate. Gunshots rang out, and Jon, _Jonny,_ flinched back, blood leaking from his shoulder. 

“Motherfucker! Give us a goddamn _moment, will you?_ We’re trying to have a conversation here!” He raised his gun threateningly. “Or, I could deal with you ladies first…” He trailed off, scowling. Bullets skimmed by and his eyes narrowed, a feral grin clawing its way across his face. 

“Alright then! You asked for this!” And with that, he stepped out fully from behind cover, and with a mad cackle, threw himself in battle. 

\---

Martin didn’t quite know how to feel. Jon had been acting strangely all day, and now he was claiming to be some kind of space pirate? He was claiming to be the Captain of a starship, with a different name, and where on Earth did he learn to _fire a gun!_ And now he was out there fighting a group of killer clones and laughing! On the one hand, this is the happiest he’s seen Jon look in months, but on the other, this was all so _wrong._

“Well,” Basira said. “That is interesting.”

Daisy poked her head around the corner of the shipping container. “He’s not doing all that badly, actually. He certainly knows how to use that gun of his. He is still taking a lot of damage but that immortality of his seems to be letting him walk it off. Those ‘Rose Reds’ don’t seem to have the same kind of advantage.” She almost sounded impressed.

“We’re not seriously entertaining this delusion are we?” Melanie waved a hand towards the mad laughter echoing from the battle. “Jon’s finally lost it! He thinks he’s a fucking space pirate, and is he _singing?_ I’ve never even heard him hum before and now he’s singing while in the middle of some fucked up gun fight with a bunch of clones!” 

Distantly, Martin could hear Jon’s voice, _“Fire til you’re empty, til your ammunition runs dry! If you’re finished playing at soldiers, you might’ve noticed that I cannot die!”_ He was actually quite a good singer, he noted absently. 

“Look, when we were investigating him for murder back in 2017, his background check throws up a lot of weird inconsistencies. By all rights he didn't actually exist until 2005.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a fucking space pirate though!” 

“Perhaps not, but it would explain some things, and you have to admit it’s not the weirdest thing we’ve heard.” Basira responded, raising an eyebrow at Melanie.

“The fighting’s stopped, Jon’s coming back.” Daisy interrupts the brewing argument. A moment later, Jon stood before them. He was covered in blood and grinning breathlessly, his gun hanging loosely at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all inspired by that one part in sleeping beauty and i think you can tell lmao


	2. Hear them Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i really wish i planned things out because i really dont know where I'm going with this... the entire time i was writing this chapter i was trying to figure out where it would actually end and what was going on, and on that note: Have This
> 
> Also! Some of you may have noticed that I will steal phrases and bits of dialogue straight from the source material, so if something feels familiar, its because I stole it lmao

“Well that was a breath of fresh air. Where were we?” Jon spun his revolver, and tucked it into the waistband of his slacks. His body was covered in countless gashes and bullet wounds, all in various states of healing. Blood covered him from head to toe, that of the Rose Red’s indistinguishable from his own, making for one particularly gory picture. 

“We were at the point where you explain what the hell is going on, Jon!” Martin finally found his voice, and it was edged with hysteria. “None of this makes _any sense!”_

Jon looked at the people in front of him, Daisy and Basira both had a look of cool wariness, tempered with an edge of curiosity, while Melanie’s expression was that of someone who still wanted him thrown in a mental hospital, but had been soundly outvoted. Martin seemed to be having the worst time out of the four, and had an interesting expression on his face: something between shock and horror, with a dash of resignation thrown in. Now wasn’t that interesting?

“Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere else, the police are sure to arrive soon what with all of the gunshots, and though I’d be just fine with having a bit of a tussle with them, I’m sure you’d all disagree.” Jon said, focusing on Daisy and Basira first, before his gaze flickered over to Melanie and Martin. He tilted his head towards where they’d come in. “Shall we?”

Basira looked at Daisy, who sighed, pushing off the wall of the shipping container. “Alright but if you try anything I will not hesitate to gut you, got it?”

“Loud and clear.” He gestured grandly towards the exit, “After you.”

\---

Twenty minutes later they were stood at the door of Jon’s rarely used apartment, watching him smoothly convince his neighbor that he’d “just been caught in a bit of a nasty prank, honestly Mrs Weston, he was _fine.”_ He’d slipped back into the speech patterns and mannerisms they were familiar with, and they could almost forget exactly why they were there. Almost.

“Right.” Jon said, shutting the door behind them. “Give me a moment to wash up, then I’ll spin you the tale of my origins, hmm? Make yourselves at home,” he continued before anyone could respond. “Help yourselves to whatever may or may not be in the cupboards, I haven’t been home in awhile.” With this, he turned and disappeared further into the apartment. A few moments later they heard a door shut and the hiss of water as the shower turned on. 

“Well,” said Melanie. “I’m going to go see if Jon has any alcohol, because I get the feeling I’m _really_ gonna need it.” She turned, striding into the kitchen with a sort of single minded focus, rifling through the depressingly empty cupboards. Basira took a seat at the kitchen table and brought out her phone, busying herself with something on the screen. Daisy leant against the door frame, surveying the space around her. 

The apartment wasn’t cold, or empty per se, but there wasn’t a lot of personalisation, nothing that really screamed that it was Jon’s home. _Although, the Archives are probably more of a ‘home’ to him at this point,_ she thought wryly. Against one wall there was a tall bookshelf, the shelves filled with various scientific journals and non-fiction texts, with the occasional sci-fi novel thrown in. She could see the dust on their spines from where she stood, and it was obvious that he hadn’t touched them in a very long time. 

She was pulled from her observations by Melanie’s triumphant _“Ah ha!”_ and turned in time to see her pull a bottle of vodka out of the cupboard above the fridge. 

“You know, I did not take Jon for a vodka-man, always thought he was more of a dry white wine kinda dude.” She yanked the cap off and took a deep pull from the bottle. Melanie swung herself up onto the counter top, offering the bottle to the rest of them. “Anyone else want some?” 

Daisy shook her head, Basira chiming in with a “No thanks.” Her attention still focused on her phone. Martin took half a step forward. “Are you sure you should be drinking? We’re in kind of a serious situation and-” Melanie cut him off.

“Martin, I will _need_ alcohol to get through this without stabbing him, especially since I now know that he won't die from it. It’d be cathartic, after all he’s done, but you lot look down on a bit of stabbing, so, I’m resorting to my good friend vodka.” She took a pointed drink, fingers closed tightly around the neck of the bottle. “You can make tea if you want,” She gestured flippantly towards the cupboards. “I think I saw teabags in one of those cupboards.” 

Martin took a deep breath. “No, I…” He sighed. “It’s fine.” He sat down next to Basira, and put his face in his hands. “What do we do? Nothing, nothing about this makes _any sense.”_ His voice came out muffled, but the misery in his voice was clear. 

“Well, you could wait for me to actually tell you what happened.” Jon had returned, his hair still dripping, but his clothes were thankfully clean. “I did say I would after all. After that, I figure I’ve got some people to visit, a crew to contact.” He stepped into the kitchen, taking in Daisy in the doorway, Basira and Martin at the table, and Melanie lounging on the counter, vodka in hand. “I see you actually found something worth drinking; mind if I…?” He raised an eyebrow, hand stretched towards her. Melanie scowled, and roughly passed him the bottle. He grinned at her, before taking a swig.

“Now, where to begin?” Jon handed the bottle back to Melanie, pulling one of the chairs out from the table and swinging himself into it. Basira looked up from her phone as he propped his feet up on the table top. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You could try the beginning. You don’t exactly exist in the systems before 2005, and I’m curious as to how you could have just popped up from nowhere, and no-one called you out on it.” She leaned toward him, arms braced on the table, phone set beside her.

“Well, I can only assume that that was the work of our Science Officer, Raphaella la Cognizi. As to how she managed, well I was never really interested in her work, there were always _much_ more interesting things happening. 

“As I said, the name’s Jonny d’Ville, the Captain of the Starship Aurora. The crew of our ship is called the Mechanisms, a band of immortal space pirates roaming the cosmos, having fun where possible, violence where necessary, and if we’re very lucky, both at the same time.” He smiled, his voice settling into a familiar cadence, the same cadence he used while recording statements. 

“We’re, well, I guess you could call us bards. We find and chronicle stories, revolutions, wars, interesting people. The ladies back in the shipyard were Rose Reds, clones made by King Cole from the genetic blueprint of his most talented soldier, Rose, in order to conquer the entire galaxy and bring it under his immortal rule. The war between King Cole’s men and General Snow White’s Revolution lasted thirty years and ended only in bloodshed and agony, with King Cole, General White, and the original Rose all dead on the floor before the King’s ivory throne, the twisted remains of the Three little Pigs strewn around them. Some of the Rose’s must have escaped after the battle, fleeing to this backwater planet to hide.”

“Sorry,” Martin interrupted. “Old King Cole, Snow White, the Three little Pigs, those are all fairy tales, they’re just stories aren’t they? They aren’t _real.”_

“Everything is a story when it isn’t happening to you. For a majority of this world the Sandman, the boogeyman, they’re just _stories,_ but for an unfortunate few, they’re very, very real.” Jon tipped back in his chair, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He sat, motionless for a moment, before snapping to his feet, gun clasped in his hand, eyes focused on the entrance to the apartment.

“Something’s wrong.” Daisy said, dread and anticipation twisting in her gut. 

“No shit Sherlock.” Jon responded. “And I’m going to find out what.” He squared his shoulders and headed towards the door, revolver held before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side bar: thank u to everyone who has left nice comments or kudos so far! y'all are what I use to bully myself into actually writing this so like,,, thanks! If you see any mistakes feel free to call me out, because I write these at night and am Bad at proof-reading


	3. An Oncoming Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter this time bc i literally could not figure out what else to add so like,,, have this

Jon strode towards the entrance, sixgun held aloft. He paused a moment before the yellow door, let out a short laugh and knocked firmly, once, twice, three times. The door swung backwards, to where the landing should be.

“Hello, Archivist.” Helen purred. “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, you know. The balance is shifting-” She paused, head tilting to the side as she leaned impossibly forward. “Oh, what have you _done_ to yourself, Archivist? Your eye won’t be pleased with this.”

Jon laughed, slipping his gun back into his waistband. “I imagine it won’t be, however, I didn’t exactly choose this. I would have much rather continued on with my life before this, but well, we can’t all have what we want can we?” He took a step back, posture relaxing. Helen wasn’t a threat, not yet. 

“What do you mean the balance is shifting? What does that have to do with Jon?” The aforementioned man turned, while Helen straightened up. Basira and Daisy had followed him, and were standing in the doorway to the kitchen, creating a protective barrier between a supposed threat, and the more vulnerable members of their team. Martin’s head was poking over their shoulders. _Melanie,_ Jon supposed, _is likely to still be on the countertop with the vodka bottle. Can’t blame her of course._

“Exactly what it sounds like, Detective. The balance is shifting off course, and throwing the others into a bit of a tizzy. Whatever has been done to our dear Archivist here has thrown a wrench in the works. Both the eye and the slaughter are stronger than ever, and I cross my heart, Archivist,” Her long fingers twist and form a cross over her chest. “That the others won’t be pleased. Watch your back Archivist.”

“Why are you warning us?” Jon’s eyes narrowed. This was not good. “Surely this disadvantages you just as much?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his back straight.

Helen laughed, and they all winced. It scraped against their ears like a cheese grater made of wet teeth: a visceral sound and sensation. “You’re a liar, Archivist.” Her tone was almost fond. “Now more so than ever. You’re a tangle of lies and contradictions folded over themselves and stuffed into a human facade. Your new state of being neither weakens nor strengthens me. I’m perfectly happy to sit back and enjoy the chaos.” She smiled at him, too wide for her narrow face. 

With this, Helen stepped back into her doorway and winked at Jon. “Do try not to change further, Archivist. Or I may have something very different to say.” With this, the door swung shut. Jon tipped his head back and laughed.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He said to the closed door, and when he turned back to the kitchen, it was gone.

\---

“Right,” said Jon. “That’s good to know.”

They were back in the kitchen, Jon settled in his chair, one arm slung over the back. Melanie was still seated on the counter, the vodka bottle noticeably emptier than it was before, while Martin leaned next to her, conspicuously far away from Jon. Daisy and Basira were back in their previous spots, against the wall and across from Jon respectively. 

“So, to summarise, we’re _even more fucked_ than we previously were! That’s great!” Melanie said, sarcasm heavy in her words. The vodka bottle hung precariously in her hand. 

“Well at least we have warning this time.” Basira pinched the bridge of her nose. “God, Jon you really do find new and interesting ways to make this whole situation _even worse,_ don’t you?” Jon raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I’d hardly say it’s my fault this happened. I’m just, hmm, well I suppose I’m a convenient narrative catalyst. I presume the powers that be noticed that I didn’t quite belong, but had convenient skills and attributes they could make use of.” 

Melanie was half way through opening her mouth, an infuriated look in her eyes, but Martin spoke up before she could. “Why do you keep doing that? Referring to everything like, like its a _story_ and we’re all just characters in a fucked up fairytale. _This is real life, Jon,_ not some, not some story.”

Jon paused a moment, and he looked, really looked at the people he was surrounded by; at his assistants. “I see. What you need to understand is that I’ve lived over a dozen lifetimes so far. I’ve seen wars that spanned decades, I’ve seen the worst of what a being could do, and sometimes I’ve even taken part!” He spread his hands, expression intense. “All there is, is stories. That’s all people are, that’s all events are, they’re all _stories._ And well, people don’t tend to survive these stories. So what _we_ do is tell them. Make sure that these events don’t die with the people who played their part in them.” He stood, turning to face the window, and the darkness that lay beyond. “Someday I’ll tell your stories too, I suppose.”

The room was silent after Jon’s speech, and the look on Martin’s face was pained. For a moment it seemed as if he was going to reach out to Jon, but the dissonance was too great. This wasn’t the Jon he knew.

“But enough about _that.”_ He suddenly turned, tone much more animated now. He strode forward and leant, palms flat against the table top. “I think what we should be worrying about is the avatars who are now more likely to attack to get me out of the picture. After all, take out the kingpin and you’re left with a vacuum to fill. Of course, they can’t actually kill me, I am immortal after all, but they don’t know that, and you’re all at a much greater risk than I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i just channel all my existentialist views into jonny d'ville talking about stories,,,
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed that  
> sorry about the wait, life ya know  
> hmu on tumblr @squishydish if u ever wanna talk :)


	4. Will dash the Ships against the Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hello Elias,” he purred. “How have you been?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lads were finally here! the confrontation with Elias!

The Institute was quiet at this time of morning. The sun had barely risen and yet Jon stalked her halls, his assistants following closely behind. The influence of Peter Lukas was even greater in this moment, the corridors seeming to crawl on forever, the sound of their footsteps hollow and achingly lonely in the immense building. 

None of the party had slept that night, too involved with the plans they were weaving, and as a result a few of their number were moving rather sluggishly. It wasn’t often the Archival staff had any reason to be on the upper levels of the Institute, as most of their business was found and kept in the Archives. However, the few times they did venture upstairs were for either the Reference Library, or Artifact Storage. The latter of which they were heading towards at that moment.

Jon came to a stop outside the door to Artifact Storage. It was relatively innocuous, except for the conspicuous sign sitting directly at eye level. _Danger_ it read. _Authorised Personnel only._ Well, Jon was technically authorised, but he doubted Elias intended for him to use his clearance like this. He opened the door.

Artifact Storage is very clean and organised, it really had to be, in order to keep the artifacts from reacting negatively to both their surroundings, and the artifacts around them. He paused for a moment, before making a beeline for the slaughter aligned artifacts. If his memory served him correctly —and it often did— his harmonica should be right about… _there._ He reached for it, briefly glancing at the sign next to it. They’d categorised it as having a transformative effect, similar to that of Grifters Bone, heightening the emotions of those who heard it, often leading to violence. Oh how he’d missed it. 

“Jon, maybe you shouldn’t-” Martin started. “Hm?” Jon turned, the harmonica already held in his hand. “Touch that.” He finished weakly. “Never mind.” 

Jon looked at them for a moment before he realised. “Oh! Don’t worry about this,” He said with a laugh. “This one’s mine.” 

Basira raised an eyebrow at him. “The cursed harmonica that makes people kill each other when played is yours? Why am I not surprised.” 

Jon smiled fondly at the old instrument, running his fingers gently across it before tucking it securely into his pocket. He turned, scanning the rows of shelves for anything of interest. Not immediately finding anything, he turned his attention back to the cluster of assistants at the door. “Right,” He said. “Who wants to take a visit to Elias?”

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Basira said. “That was his only term in regards to actually… staying in his cell.” It was a well known fact that Elias could leave whenever he wanted, and was only remaining in Prison because it benefited him. Unsurprising but infuriating nonetheless.

Jon laughed. “Oh I rather think he’ll want to see me now, don’t you?” He strode towards them, pausing for a moment as the door frame emptied. “After all, he’s not the biggest kid on the playground anymore.” He grinned at them, as quick and jagged as lightning and turned down the hallway.

\---

They met very little resistance on their way through the prison. Likely, Elias had Seen that they were coming, and had decided to make things a little easier for them. Unusual.

It was just him and Basira on this particular venture. Martin didn’t particularly want to see Elias again, residual trauma from his actions before the unknowing. Fair enough. Melanie and Daisy had stayed behind purely because neither of them were sure they could restrain from murdering Elias if provoked, which while valid, was not conducive to their plans. So it was just the two of them. Jon knew Basira had come primarily because she didn’t trust him to be alone with Elias. Two monsters alone in a room is a recipe for disaster. 

They turned a corner and paused before a shiny metal door, indistinguishable from the rest in the corridor. Basira’s face was blank, while Jon’s held a hint of a smirk that only grew as he reached out and pushed the door open. 

“Hello Elias,” he purred. “How have you been?”

“What the _fuck_ have you done, Jon.” 

“I’ve become _more_ Elias, just like you always wanted.” Elias’ face was tight with anger, and was that? A hint of _fear_ even. How interesting. “Now, I’ve got some questions that I would just love to get some answers for.” Jon leaned forward over the table between them, eyes wide and maniacally bright behind his glasses. 

“And why should I tell you anything? Do you know just what kind of a mess you’ve caused? You-” Jon interrupted him. 

“Yes, yes I’ve upset the balance, blah, blah, _blah.”_ He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately for you Elias, I don’t really care how this affects your plans for the apocalypse, or whatever you were trying to achieve. You see, despite just how much fun an apocalypse might be, I’m in a unique position to actively stop a bloody conflict before it truly begins.” His gaze was locked with Elias’. 

“I’d rather like to see how it feels.” He took a step back, shoulders relaxed and unconcerned. The more relaxed Jon was, the tenser Elias became; his posture rigid and face tight. “And,” Jon continued. “If you don’t tell me I may just have to get creative and believe me Elias, you don’t want that to happen.” 

The room they were in became very cold. A silent standoff was taking place between Jon and Elias, the tension between them palpable and chilling. Elias narrowed his eyes, visibly regrouping and forcibly untensing his shoulders. He chuckled. 

“We both know that you won’t do anything, Jon.” He sounded like his normal, smug self, but there was something in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head that betrayed his discomfort. He wasn’t in control and he _hated_ it. “You’re a _good_ man, Jon, and I’m afraid that one day, that will be your downfall.” 

Jon let him finish, head tilted to the side. He laughed, low and condescending. 

“Oh _Elias,”_ he smiled sympathetically. “It’s actually kind of funny that you think that _I’m_ still a good person. Jon might’ve been, but well, I very much am not.” He tilted his head back, grinning wrly at the ceiling, “I’ve killed more people than you’ve met in your lifetime. I’ve killed for practically every reason you can think of, and most importantly,” He leaned forward, nose to nose with Elias, his presence suffocating. 

“Most importantly, I’ve killed _gods._ And I promise,” he said. “They were all much stronger than _you.”_

He dropped into the chair before him, gaze never once leaving Elias. “Now,” he said, voice saccharine. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

\---

“Colour me impressed.” Basira said. “You didn’t even have to bring out your magic gun.”

The door swung shut behind them, locking Elias within the prison of his own design once again. Jon smiled at her, the softness in his eyes making him look far more like the Jon they knew, they used to know. 

“There wasn’t really a need.” He said, running the tips of his fingers along the wall as they walked. “We got the information we needed without resorting to violence, so I’ll consider that a job well done.”

“Right…” Basira drawled. “And what was that about you killing gods?” 

“Did I not mention that? I thought I did…” _“Jon.”_ “Basira I’ve lived a very long time, and killed a lot of people. Some of those people just happened to be beings of unimaginable power, that’s just how life is. Look on the bright side!” He danced ahead, spinning round to face her with his arms spread wide. “I am uniquely qualified to help solve this little apocalypse problem of yours, and if I get to kill a god? All the better!”

He grinned at her. “I Know I’m not the Jon you want, but I’m the Jonny you get and between you and I? I’m a much better being to bet on.” 

“Stay _out of my head.”_ “As you wish.” Reaching the exit, he pulled open the door with a flourish. “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Its been a bit hasn't it? Sorry bout that, Uni's starting and I had to move into the dorm and everything. So! Chapter four! Elias! I hope you liked that exchange, it was fun to write :]
> 
> also jonny sims characters are narrators to the core and thats really evident when i write them because he just winds up monologuing lmao 
> 
> anyways i have no idea when ill get the next chapter done but i promise i will be working on it! and i use nice comments to bully me into doing shit (thank u anon who left a very nice one that made me finish this fucking chapter) so like, yeah
> 
> see ya on the flipside!


End file.
